Renegade
by EnglishPotato
Summary: This is the story of how Misty (who changed her name to Nera) met a man who prompted her into becoming a superhero without powers. And in doing so, met some very interesting people, became a legend, and stuck it to the man...whoever he is. This is the story of how Misty became a rebel. This is the story of how Misty became the Renegade.
1. Chapter 1

"Misty," At the sound of her name, Misty's head snapped up from her computer. She rose from her chair and quietly drifted to the door of her boss's office. He was old, with silver hair and a matching beard, and his eyes were a sharp, unforgiving, blue. His name was Mr. Sweeney.

"Yes?" Mr. Sweeney lifted up his cup of coffee and stared her directly in the eye. Almost automatically, Misty's eyes lowered to the floor.

"Come and tell me what's wrong with this cup of coffee," Tentatively, but quickly, Misty moved closer and peered at the mug's contents. The inky black liquid swirled in tiny waves, lapping against the porcelain white sides and staining them a gentle brown. The steam rolled off of it in opaque swirls; Misty could feel the heat on her face.

"Um," She thought back to when she made it. Hot water, heated for no more than two and a half minutes. Two spoonfuls from the metal jar hidden on the top shelf of the left cabinet. The one that was bolted down and filled with coffee imported straight from Columbia. Though Misty had worked here for almost a year, it never seemed to run out. Three spoonfuls of sugar applied in fifteen second intervals and stirred in for twenty seconds each. No cream. No coffee stains running down the sides. It was expected to be on his desk no sooner than six ten each morning, five minutes before he came in. Which it had. As always, Misty had been obscenely careful with her boss's specifics on his coffee.

"I'll give you a hint," He murmured, patronizingly. "Office. Bitch." At once, Misty understood.

"Oh," She whispered. Wrong mug.

"That's right; 'oh!'" Mr. Sweeney mocked her. He set his cup down. "New cup. Five minutes."

As she carried the full cup of coffee back to the break room, Misty wondered why she put up with this.

_Because you need this job. _She reminded herself. _Because this paid internship is the only thing keeping you in that nice apartment, where, if you stand at just the right angle at the window in the bedroom, you can see the Empire State Building._

"Misty! Thank GAWD!" The intern's thoughts were interrupted as Willow, a thick-haired blonde-whom Misty knew for a fact that she had only been hired because she looked good and wore cleavage exposing blouses- almost crashed into her with a smear of printer toner on her forehead and a thick stack of papers in her hand.

To call a spade a spade, Willow was a stereotypical dumb blonde. A ditz of the highest honors, with hair that acknowledged her every whim, ruby lipstick, and impeccable fashion sense. Other than Misty, Willow was the only other woman on Floor Six.

"I made copies of the newsletter like Mr. Sweeney told me to and I was wonder if…if it's not _too _much to ask…" Willow twirled a curly lock of gold around her manicured finger and smiled her perfect smile.

"Uh…" Misty glanced down at the cup of coffee and thought about her ridiculously short deadline. She did the math.

_You'll be cutting it awful close… _her conscience warned her. Screw it. She could do it in time. As long as anyone else didn't ask her for any favors. "Sure, Willow."

Willow grinned and plopped the papers in her arms. She paused for a moment and then gave Misty a forced hug. "Thank you!" she sang and scurried off to do whatever Willow did around here. Probably pick up pens and paperclips for the younger male employees while they watched her from behind.

Misty just shook her head. _Poor, poor Willow. Life must be so hard when you're pretty. _

"Oh, don't be hateful," She scolded herself as she rushed off to the breakroom. She disposed of the coffee, pulled Mr. Sweeney's "Office Bitch" mug out of the cabinet, filled it with water, set the timer, and was out and heading for the elevator before she even heard the microwave start to hum. Of course, six people hit her with Post-It Note reminders as she ran, each to be distributed to a different employee. As if she knew them all (she did).

Misty carefully peeled the Post-Its off the newsletters and arranged them in a stack. Conveniently, the one on top was addressed to the receptionist, Fiona.

It consisted of three words:

Fiona,

Lunch?

-Dave

Oh, Dave. If only someone had the courage to tell him to not wear a bolo tie to work. And lose the mustache. And not come busting through the front door in a fedora and singing the Inspector Gadget theme song. Maybe it'd be endearing if he didn't dance his way to the elevator. She walked as calmly as she could to the front desk-clients seemed to be _everywhere _today- and dropped the stack of papers on the desk.

"From Willow," Misty said. "And this." She thrust the note at Fiona, who read it, scrawled out a Post It of her own and handed it back with a smile.

It was a simple, curly, 'No'.

"Also, can you get me a refill?" She shook her empty pink mug a little, and Misty pursed her lips and stared at the coffee machine on the other side of the lobby. She had three minutes… "You know how I like it right? Two creams and one sugar?"

"Of course," Misty took the mug, filled it and brought it back, grimacing when she blended the cream as her mental alarm went off. She swore she could hear the microwave go off from here.

"Thanks so much, sweetie!" Fiona accepted the mug and a phone call at the same time.

"Part of my job," Misty said and power walked to the elevator, Post-Its in…_dammit_. Power walk back to the coffee machine, grab the notes and walk as fast as she could without breaking into a run back to the elevator.

"Yeah it is part of my job," She muttered, once she was safely in the elevator. "Part of my job to be everyone's damned doormat. I need a mug that says 'Office Bitch' not Sweeney."

"Sweeney has a mug that says 'Office Bitch'?"

"Oh!" Misty gasped and dropped her collection of memos. "I didn't see you!"

"Obviously, or you would be cussing like that," Tony Stark chuckled and shook his head. "You dropped your notes."

"Right,"

"I'll get them," he offered, already stooping down to pick them up.

"I apologize for my inappropriate vocabulary, Mr. Stark," Misty accepted the notes from him and tried desperately to regain her professionalism.

"Eh, don't worry about it. We all hate our bosses at some point." He shrugged.

Misty glanced at Mr. Stark, dressed in a three-piece suit and a fedora. He wore sunglasses and a bushy, stick-on mustache that didn't match the rest of his facial hair.

He placed a finger to his lips and grinned conspiratorially. "I'm doing a little inspection. You'll keep it quiet, won't you?"

"Of…course," Misty said slowly, turning the memos over in her hands.

"What? Is the outfit too much?"

"I would…get rid of the sunglasses and fedora. And the fake mustache. It looks a touch…comical."

"Comical?" The Iron Man frowned and tried to look down his nose at the bushy stick on mustache. "Hm," With that, he ripped it off and pulled the sunglasses off in a style that could that could only be described as awesome. "Here, take this," he set his hat on Misty's head and handed her the 'stache and shades. "Hide the mustache in a bush and…give the sunglasses to your boyfriend or something. Tell him they're Armani," The elevator dinged and Tony strode off, hands in his pockets. "Good day, Miss..." he turned, walking backwards and pointing at her.

"Misty," She supplied.

"Misty," Tony repeated. "Say hi to your boyfriend for me." He sauntered off, deeper into Floor Five.

"I-I don't have a boyfriend," Misty stammered quietly. The elevator closed, rose to the level she needed and Misty was off on another escapade to get Mr. Sweeney's coffee ready. As she headed there, she passed off Fiona's note to Dave and dropped the mustache in a decorative office fern.

She brewed, mixed, stirred, waited, and carried the mug to Mr. Sweeney.

"About time," He toggled with his phone. "You had eight seconds left to go," He looked up at the intern and scowled. "Why in the hell are you wearing at hat?"

"Misty! Have you delivered my memo yet?" Someone called.

"Someone gave it to me," Misty replied hastily and hurried out to deliver Post-It notes.

"Who gave it to you?" He was following her. Perfect. Misty hesitated as she applied the sticky part of a note to the desk of a guy named Joe (an accountant)

'I don't know, some guy in the elevator. He had a mustache. Sort of like Dave's only…weirder."

"Well, what did he say to you?"

"Nothing! At first, I mean," Misty handed four of her notes to Willow. Each was an offer to take her out for some form of meal at assorted eating establishments. "Right before he got off, he said 'Here take this' and left." Misty turned and offered the last Post-it to Mr. Sweeney, who stuck it in his pocket without bothering to look at it.

"So you just took a random stranger' hat while you were in the elevator," He paused, realizing what he had said. "Wait a second, what were you doing in the elevator?"

"Delivering newsletters and a memo to Fiona," Misty replied instantly, truthfully, like the good little employee she was.

"Who's Fiona?"

"The receptionist, Mr. Sweeney," Willow called from her cubicle. "Real nice girl. Dave's got a thing for her."

"You were delivering newsletters to the receptionist," Mr. Sweeney spoke like this was hard to believe. "While you were supposed to be remaking my coffee. And you met a stranger who gave you his hat."

_And sunglasses for my make-believe boyfriend, _Misty could see the expensive eyewear from where she stood; lying next to her keyboard.

"Yes, sir."

"Well, alright," With that, Mr. Sweeney retreated to his office and resumed checking his e-mail. Misty stood there, stunned.

After a few moments, she shook it off and continued with her day. Misty took two more coffee requests (three if she counted the refill she had to do for Willow, who spilled hers on one of the men in the office. She took another note to Fiona from Dave –"Please?"- and returned with her response-"No,"- before she finally got t o sit down at her computer and tackle the mandatory workload Mr. Sweeney assigned to her daily.

"Misty,"

"Mr. Stark," Misty looked up at her other boss, whose arms rested on her desk. "May I help you?"

"You dropped this in the elevator," he handed her a bright yellow Post-It. She took it and read the writing carefully.

Misty,

Be my Office Bitch?"

-Tony

"Mr. Stark, I-"

When she looked up, he was already halfway into Mr. Sweeney's office. She waited patiently for him to come out, and even then, when she went to ask her question, he interrupted her.

"Pack your stuff, kid. You work for me now."

"I was under the impression that I already worked for you," Misty logged off of her computer and slid the two pencils she kept on the hard drive into her bag.

"Well, this is a better job. It pays better. You get to live in Stark Tower. I'll even accommodate you boyfriend if he wants. Which, by the way, you're forgetting these," He held out the Armani sunglasses.

"Oh. Oh, no, keep them. I don't have a boyfriend."

"Then keep them for when you do. Now, right this way; we have a lot to discuss."

Misty took the sunglasses and looked at the black tint for a moment. Then her eyes slid up to look at her boss, who glared back at her through the glass wall of his office. They broke the staring contest when Tony realized that his newest employee was not following him.

"Misty?"

"Oh, right. I'm coming." Misty shouldered her bag and followed her new other boss out of the complex.


	2. Chapter 2

Misty stepped out on the street and took a moment to admire the almost completed Stark Tower, literally across the street. The complex was a temporary facility until construction finished. Then everyone in the little white box with windows would move to the tall tower. She had been looking forward to going to work there every day. Not having to take the shaky elevator or pity the folks on the level above her who had to suffer without air conditioning, who resorted to personal hand fans and spritzing each other with water bottles over lunch break, putting ice in their coffee and stashing sticks of deodorant in their drawers and purses. Or the brown water stains above her desk. She wouldn't have had to look at those ugly things anymore.

"You'll be working as an intern, like before. You know, coffee, distributing memos, running errands, that sort of thing," Tony held the door open for her, and the chill of top of the line AC chased away the summer heat of New York City.

"Alright," Misty stepped into the cool lobby, a wide, marble affair with a matching receptionist desk. It was empty, and a man was behind the counter, installing a computer and chewing on a Subway sandwich.

"Misty, that was a joke,"

"What?"

"You're not going to be an intern. Screw that! You're an assistant. _My _assistant. You'll let me know if I have calls or visitors and give me my schedule at the beginning of the day, pass along important stuff…it's fairly easy and you get an hour lunch break."

"Okay,"

Tony stared at her. "Your lack of enthusiasm is killing me, kid."

"I'm being a good employee."

"What?"

"You're my boss. That's what Mr. Sweeney taught me and the other intern…before she fled to Canada. Don't question anything, be on time, casual Fridays do not exist…there's a whole book that he gave me to go over.

Tony just stared at her. "Alright, Misty, I want you to close your eyes,"

"Okay," Misty did as she was told and waited.

"Now, imagine you're in front of a boiling pit of lava,"

"I'm there,"

"Imagine you're holding that book full of everything Sweeney ever told you to do."

"Right,"

"Now, open the book, tear out the back part of the cover and throw the rest of it into the pit."

Though Misty considered this odd, she did so, imagining tossing the Mr. Sweeney handbook into the pit of lava. But not before tearing off the back cover.

"Imagine you're looking down at the back cover. On it, there is writing. And it says this:"

Misty gasped as she was suddenly drenched in ice-cold water. She opened her eyes and stared at Tony, who was holding an empty glass pitcher.

"Question. Fucking. _EVERYTHING. _In red, of course, and the words, 'Love, Tony' at the bottom."

"What just happened?" Misty cleared her hair from her vision and dabbed at the spot under her eye. It came back black.

"I taught you a life lesson. You put too much trust in people, Misty. You obey orders better than a trained soldier, and I don't want you to do that. I want you to think twice. I want you to ask why, not follow someone blindly. Look where that's gotten you so far. Look at you. Your makeup is ruined, that blouse will never be able to be worn again and you have an ice cube in your cleavage. Look at the decisions you've made. Look at how poorly you're leading your life."

"I'll get you back for this," Misty promised, wringing her hair out.

"That's more like it!" Tony set the pitcher on the marble desk. "To the elevator!"

Misty stared after him, incredulous. Was he always like this? Spontaneous and a little annoying? How did he know that an ice cube was currently melting between her boobs?

"I'd switch his cereal around," the guy behind the desk offered.

"I'll keep that in mind," Misty promised and followed Tony to the elevator, carefully avoiding wet spots on the slick marble floors.

Once they were in, Tony pushed a button and folded his hands in front of him.

"I guess I should get you dry clothing, huh?"

"And a towel. They both would be nice, thank you." Misty tried to maintain what dignity she had as Tony led her down a hallway to a spacious bedroom that was bigger than her apartment.

"I you want, you can stay here until your floor is finished," He offered, walking over to a panel and pressing a button. A panel of bare wall rolled up to reveal a view of the street below. Misty's mouth dropped open at what he just said.

"My _floor?" _She walked over to get a better view of the city in front of her.

"Yes, your floor. It'll have a bedroom, a living room, free wi-fi, cable TV, a kitchen, bathroom, the works. Or you can go back to your apartment until construction is finished. I hope you know that you're taking a research floor away from me,"

"I-I am?" Misty immediately felt like she was intruding. Tony was already offering her so much already.

"Mhm. Now I'll only have ten floors instead of eleven."

The sense of intrusion eased slightly. "Whatever shall you do?" Misty mock sympathized dryly.

"I know, I'm deeply saddened. You know it was going to be for Cancer Research, right?"

"I thought you were trying to get me to accept the job, not walk away from it."

"Nah, I'm teasing. Cancer's the seventh floor. The floor you're on now was going to be the study of human behavior. A.K.A., the breakroom."

Misty smiled.

"You know," Tony said slyly. "You when I told you about your own level, you seemed pretty _floored!_" He slapped his knee and convulsed in silent giggles.

Misty appraised Tony through narrowed eyes. "Very funny," She decided.

"Get used to cheesy humor, kid. And inappropriate humor. I don't fit the boss mold very well. Now, go dry off. I'll see what I can do about clothes."

Misty walked into the bathroom, which was about the same size as the bedroom and picked a towel off of the rack. She washed what she could of her makeup off and changed out of her soaked clothes. She wrapped a towel around herself, pulled her hair out of its bun and rubbed it down with another towel. When she peered out into the bedroom, a stack of clothes was folded neatly at the edge of the king sized bed.

A pair of jeans. A shirt meant for a guy. No shoes. Misty tugged them on and walked out, carrying her wet clothes and shoes with her.

Tony was waiting outside. "Nice shirt," He snickered. "I didn't know you liked Black Sabbath."

Misty rolled her eyes and adjusted the strap of her bag. "I'll return it to you on Monday, along with the jeans. At what time do you expect me?"

"I guess you're staying in your apartment until construction's done. I'll get a limo for you. Uh, just…come around whenever."

"I'll see you tomorrow, Mr. Stark,"

"Call me Tony! I won't have any of that last name bullshit."

Misty was in the lobby at seven o'clock sharp the next morning.

"You realize that when I said 'come in whenever' I meant around noon, right?" Tony was sitting at his kitchen table, in his bathrobe, drinking coffee. Misty placed the stack of borrowed clothes next to him and sighed.

"Perhaps you should have said noon, then," She suggested. "In the future, if you _do _ever say 'come around whenever' know that I will be here at the earliest convenience."

"The earliest convenience?"

"When the Starbucks on my street opens," Misty clarified.

"Oh," Tony took a drink of his coffee and unfolded his New York Times. "Misty…hm. What's the story behind your name?"

"The story?"

"Yeah, did they pick it for a reason?"

"I suppose they just liked the way it sounded," She frowned. "I've never really put much thought into how they came around to naming me that."

"Well, do you like your name?"

"Goodness, no, I hate it. It's something you name a dog, not a human being. That's like naming your kid Daisy,"

"Then why don't you change it?"

Misty opened her mouth, then closed it. "I, uh… I don't know."

"Okay, first task I'm giving you: change your name."

"To what?" Misty asked. She sat down across from him.

"Have fun with it. Change your name to Dark Storm or something. Something that strikes fear in the hearts of others." Misty just looked at him. Tony sighed. "Do you have a middle name? Can you think if a name you have an emotional connection to? A favorite Star Trek character, perhaps?"

"I don't watch Star Trek,"

"Well you need to. In fact, that's your next task. You're watching all twelve of them. Or is it thirteen?"

"There are thirteen of them?"

"The first one was made in the late 1970's and they're all amazing. Also, Avatar. You seen that?"Misty shook her head. "Third task. You better get started, Missy. I need to make a checklist, because these are going to just keep piling up."

"Well, there is no way I'm renaming myself Felix," Misty referred to her middle name, after her grandfather.

"You know what? Maybe you should think about it. Take your stuff home, go spend the day out on the town and get back to me tomorrow."

"Are you sure?"

"Mhm. I'll have Star Trek: The Motion Picture waiting for you when you get here at noon tomorrow. Do you hear me? Noon!"

"Alright," Misty showed herself out and caught a taxi home. She tipped the man and made her way up to her apartment. Right as she dropped her bag on the couch, the voice came to her.

_Nera, _it said. _Call yourself Nera._


	3. Chapter 3

Misty almost jumped out of her skin. Sitting right next to where she dropped her bag, lounging across _her _couch, was a man. A very good looking man. With brown hair.

"Who the hell are you?"

_Call me Cavalon. _He didn't speak, but somehow, Misty could hear what he had said. She shivered slightly.

"Okay, that's fantastic. Uh, how did you get in here? Why isn't your mouth moving when you talk?" Misty backed away a little, her eyes never leaning him for a second.

"Would you rather it did?" He asked, eyebrows raised.

"It would be less…disturbing if it did, yes. How did you get into my apartment?"

"I came in through your window. You left it open," Cavalon said.

"Oh, that's nice. Um, can I ask why you're here?"

"To help you," Cavalon rose from the couch and stalked toward Misty.

"Oh my god, you're tall. H-help me what?"

"Save the world," He informed her. For every step he took toward her, Misty took a step back. "There are some bad people out there, Nera. And you have the potential to become an excellent superhero."

"I don't have any powers. And don't call me Nera. I'm not renaming myself that."

"Why not? It's the feminine form of Nero. He was a Roman emperor. Very famous historical figure."

"So was Adolf Hitler. They had something in common: They were both evil dictators."

"Evil is good in today's world," Cavalon argued. "Everyone likes someone who has a bad name. It lets them know you aren't soft," He tilted his head to the side. "Unless you are?"

"Y-you're really _tall," _Misty replied lamely as he came closer. She had to tilt her head back to look him in the eye.

Cavalon laughed. "Is that distracting?"

"Hm? No! No, not at all…I like that you're t-tall. Tall is good,"

"Tall is good," Cavalon repeated.

"Tall is good," Misty echoed, nodding to show her approval of Cavalon's height.

"Alright then," Cavalon folded his arms. "You didn't answer my question: are you soft?"Slowly, Misty shook her head. "Do you want to be a superhero?"

"I don't have the skills,"

"I'll train you,"

"I don't have a disguise,"

"Easily acquired,"

"Powers?"

"Sorry?"

"You know, like flight or super strength. That's what illustrates the 'super' part in 'superhero'."

"You don't need powers to be a hero, Nera," Cavalon argued gently. "All you need is a sense of justice, a mask and a nice weapon to get you going."

"Where are we going to get that?"

"Well, I said I would train you. And you let me worry about a weapon and a disguise. Should we start?"

"Now? I just got back from work! I haven't even eaten; I have laundry to do-"

"You can do that when we're done. And yes, we're starting now. No time like the present to get you started."

Cavalon reached out behind her and opened the door. "After you,"

Feeling a little numb, Misty turned around and walked out of her apartment, Cavalon close at her heels.

"Oh, don't close the door I forgot my-" _Click. _"-key."

"Don't worry, I have it."

"Good, for a second there, I thought I'd have to break a window," Misty looked behind her, expecting to see Cavalon, but he was gone. "Cavalon?"

_Outside, _His voice whispered in her head. Misty took the stairs, not bothering with the slow building elevator and burst out onto the sidewalk.

_Turn left and keep walking, _Cavalon instructed. Misty let him lead her through the streets of New York, past places she didn't even know existed. Finally, he lead her to an empty ally, where he finally appeared.

"Your key," He held it up for her to see before letting it fall to the ground with an audible clink. Misty stepped forward and collected it from the grimy asphalt.

"So what is the point of this?"

"Trust," Cavalon said.

"What does leading me blindly through the streets of New York have to do with trust?"

"For such a smart girl, you really are quite gullible."

"Can you just explain?"

Cavalon smiled and stuffed his hands into the pockets of his jeans. "A stranger who broke into your apartment has stolen your key and gotten you turned around in the big, bad, city of New York and you didn't even think twice. You just shrugged your shoulders and went where I sent you, all because I promised to train you to be a superhero. This reminds you of something someone recently told you, doesn't it?"

"Question everything," Misty recalled the advice Tony had given her earlier. Then she looked at Cavalon and narrowed her eyes. "You never were going to train me were you?"

"You should take your boss's advice to heart, Nera," He answered, turning his gaze up above her head. "It's almost nightfall. Good luck getting home." He gave her simple wave.

"Hey, wait!" Misty dove forward to grab his shirt, to demand that he take her home, but Cavalon faded to mist. Her hand went straight through him and he was gone. "Cavalon," She whispered, staring at the ground in front of her.

He was gone. He'd told her a lie and now she was lost in New York. And it was almost dark out.

"I have to get home," She murmured. She couldn't get a cab- her wallet was in her bag on the couch. Even if she had her phone, who would she call? She didn't have any friends due to her demanding job-she just hadn't had the opportunity to meet people. "Okay, focus. There has to be somewhere you can pick up a map for free. There has to be street signs, a tall building…" A tall building. She could see one from her apartment-the Empire State Building. All she had to do was find the Empire State Building and she could go from there.

Misty started walking, looking at street signs as the sun dipped lower and lower between buildings. When she found Fifth Avenue, she ran, tearing down the street until she was at the base of the building.

"Stark Tower is around the Chrysler Building, which is that way," Misty murmured to herself, crossing the street and heading in that general direction. She found Stark Tower before she could get there, however, and started home from the familiar destination.

She arrived at her apartment, key in hand, right as night set in. The first thing she did was lock her windows. Then she threw Cup Noodles in her microwave and carried a load of laundry down to the community laundry room. It was a permanently warm place, filled with six standard washing machines and dryers –three of each- and a drying rack, which Misty never used. On the far wall, some joker had used purple paint to write "Let's do some fucking laundry!" in two large, sloppy lines. Housekeeping for the building had yet to come out and paint over it.

The assistant slid her quarters into the slots and returned to her apartment, turning on an old rerun of _Friends_ while she nursed her Cup Noodles and bottled water. When it finished, Misty went back down to move her load to the dryer. Then she folded it all and put it away, laying the shirt and jeans Tony had lent her on her kitchen counter.

"I see you got back alright," Misty whirled around, sending the pile flying onto the ground. Cavalon, smirking all the while, sitting in her desk chair, holding a thin metal cylinder and a flimsy ball of material.

"Get out of my apartment," Misty warned, reaching into a drawer and pulling out a knife. It was small and serrated, used mainly for when felt she like having potato skins for dinner or when she needed to cut open a bag.

"I thought you wanted to be a superhero," Cavalon asked in a playful tone.

"That was before you left me stranded in an alleyway."

"It was your first lesson," He told her. "Trust and navigation. I killed two birds with one stone really. I was timing you, did you know?"

"Whoa, whoa, whoa, you said that you weren't going to train me," Misty argued. "You told me that I was gullible for trusting you and following you blindly. And then you just disappeared into thin fucking air _which, _by the way, I'd like to know how you did that."

Cavalon waved his hands in the air and widened his eyes. "Magic," He stage-whispered. "And I told you to take your boss's advice to heart- I was teaching you to never trust anyone. I never said that I wasn't going to train you. It took you two and a half hours to get home, in case you wanted to know. Not bad."

Misty lowered the knife a little. "So…so, I'm confused. You taught me a lesson about trust by getting me lost in New York, then timed the amount of time it took for me to get back to my apartment? You've been following me?"

"You could say that," Cavalon stood up and placed the two items on the counter before bending down to pick up the fallen clothing. "And I will train you. You have my word, if that puts you at any ease."

"What are those?" Misty dropped the knife back in the drawer and pointed at the two objects.

"A couple things I thought could help. A mask," Cavalon straightened out the red fabric, a no-nonsense figure-eight that ringed her eyes and was held in place with an elastic band. "And this," He picked up the cylinder, back up and pressed a button along the side. The metal lengthened into a pole that was a touch shorter than herself, metal through and through and –as Misty discovered when Cavalon passed it to her- relatively light.

"Vibranium," Cavalon told her. "Same stuff they used for Captain America's shield. It was real bitch to find that, by the way, so please don't lose it."

"Rare?"

"If you mean so much so that polar bears look overabundant next to it, then yes. It is very rare."

"Isn't Captain America that soldier from World War II?" Misty looked up at him. "The guy who flew an airship into the Arctic? Never found the wreckage?"

Cavalon chose to ignore the questions. He reached out and pressed the button again. The staff's length retracted, and Misty found herself holding a thin tube about the length of her forearm.

"Neat," She set it on her counter, next to the mask.

"Always keep it with you. Your next lesson starts tomorrow, same time. I'll leave an address here so you know where to meet me. Until then," Cavalon turned and strode out of the door, leaving his sentence unfinished.

"Good bye to you too," Misty said out loud.

"Nera?" Tony looked at his new assistant through creased eyes, holding a bowl of popcorn and two bottle of Coke.

"Yes, like the Roman emperor, only…feminine," Misty paraphrased what Cavalon had told her last night, shifting a little on the cushy leather couch. Her bag rested at her feet.

"Nero," Tony recalled, sitting down next to her.

"Exactly."

"Well, I guess task one is out of the way. Ready to start task two, _Nera_?" Tony emphasized her name as much as he could, picking up the remote to his insanely huge TV that took up most of the wall.

"Hit me," She responded, leaning forward to pick out a piece of popcorn. They went through the first three before Tony sent her home, bringing up the offer-once again- to stay in one of the small bedrooms on the floor below. Misty (though she supposed she was Nera now) politely turned it down and caught a cab back to her apartment.

As promised, a small scrap of paper with an address neatly printed on it waited for her on her counter. Nera folded it in half and slipped it into her pocket, picked up her bag, and went out to hail a cab.

She regretted looking it up on Google Maps because the cab driver gave her a funny look when she told him the address, drove to the nearest street sign and turned left before stopping.

"Ten cents," He told her, looking back. Nera sheepishly handed him a quarter and walked out, pushing into Ping's Martial Arts School. Cavalon was waiting for her at the front, leaning against an empty receptionist's desk.

"Welcome, young grasshopper," He bowed to her and spoke in a Japanese accent that actually wasn't too bad. Nera could pull off a killer Australian accent if she did say so herself.

"Martial arts, huh?"

"It seemed appropriate. And besides, you're going to have to learn some kung fu or jujitsu."

"What?" Cavalon shrugged and led her to an empty training room.

"Never hurts to be prepared for anything. You won't be the only trained badass out there, remember. Now," Cavalon pulled a wooden staff, similar to Nera's, out of a small stack on the side of the room. "Let's begin."

Nera took out her own staff and pressed the button. Then she pulled the mask over her eyes and grinned. "Let the training commence."


	4. Chapter 4

*_A month or so later*_

Nera bounced on the balls of her feet, her eyes gleaming at what waited for her in the window of the shop across the street.

_I can't believe you're doing this, _Cavalon groaned inside her head.

"Then stop me, if you think it's wrong," Nera challenged her mentor. He voice sounded hollow from inside her new helmet, a glossy red thing she had taken from a scrap bin in Tony's workshop. It was slightly big; being made for the Iron Man himself, of course, but had a black visor that flipped up on command instead of the pissed off expression of the Iron Man helmet.

Her boss and Star Trek buddy had tossed it for looking "too motorcyclish", so Nera figure it wouldn't be missed. Also, it was a bright cherry red instead of the maroon on his armor. Which meant it matched Nera's disguise perfectly.

_I don't think it's wrong. I just think _one _weapon is enough. _

"Don't be a stupid," Nera disagreed. "You can never have enough weapons. Especially one like this."

She cracked her knuckles and touched her belt, which ran across her abdomen, shoulder to hip, where it clipped the belt around her waist. Her staff was kept in retracted form in a Velcro pocket along the front of her abdomen belt. Realistically, the belt around her waist was useless; a decoration and nothing more. Skintight red pants with knee-guards, high, black boots, form fitting red jacket with elbow pads and a thin, yet effective bulletproof vest and fingerless black gloves completed her superhero look. Nera still had yet to know how Cavalon had gotten his hands on the bulletproof jacket.

"We're gonna need to make a strap to hold this baby," Nera went on. "Time?"

_Two minutes to midnight. Cameras shut off for one minute after that, so if you get caught past that time limit, it's on-_

"The hero who did the deed," Nera interrupted. "Not Nera. And anyway, once you let me go out and actually start saving people, that won't matter anymore."

_One minute to midnight, _Cavalon avoided the hint Nera dropped with the time update.

"Hey, where do you stay while you're walking me through stuff like this?" Nera asked curiously. "Do you sit at home?"

_Sometimes. If it's important, like this, I'll come and watch._

At that, Nera straightened and looked around for the hunched over figure of Cavalon, perhaps on that balcony over there, or pretending to be that sleeping homeless man on the bench beneath her.

Cavalon snickered. He knew she was looking for him. _Ten seconds…and…get set…GO! _

Nera dropped down to the ground and ran to the shop's door. She produced a paper clip and undid the lock in seconds.

_Forty five seconds, _Cavalon warned. The countdown for the wait to retrieve her prize had turned into the time frame she had to collect it. Nera slipped into the shop and took a moment to bask in the glory that was her battle-axe. She waved her hand over it, under it…

_For Christ's sake it's a weaponry store, not a long lost Aztec temple. Grab it and go, you've got thirty seconds!_

Nera picked it up, hefting its weight in her hand and left the stack of twenties next to the display. Then she ran outside and made a break for the other side the street.

_Ten seconds._

"Yeah, I'm on it," Nera used the bench as a springboard and caught the window ledge above her with her free hand. Gritting her teeth, she pulled herself up and mountain goated her way up the rest of the building, a Thai restaurant she had never heard of.

She rolled onto the roof and exhaled, then let out a laugh. "I made it!"

"And time," Cavalon appeared out of the shadows, dressed in his usual jeans and leather jacket. "Impressive."

Just then the alarm went off.

"You forgot to lock the door," Cavalon told her. "I take back my impressive comment. That was mediocre at best." They started running, hopping over buildings as one and sliding down onto the street. They weaved through the streets, away from the sound of approaching police sirens.

"My raid was phenomenal and you know it," Nera glance both ways as they pelted across a street, closing in on her apartment. 'You're just jealous because you don't have a weapon."

"I gave you one; a really good one too. Made from an extremely rare metal. And you couldn't be happy with that. You had to go take a battle-axe. Why didn't you just pay for it like a normal person?"

"I did pay for it! But if my future arch-nemesis goes back to that shop and asks if someone ever bought a super cool axe, they can trace it back to me. I'm not taking chances. And anyway, you're the one who taught me that. Buy your superhero stuff at night when no one's around so no one can pin anything on you."

"Yeah, well, I didn't know you were going to take a _freaking axe!"_

"It's a little too late for that. We're almost back at my apartment."

"Outstanding," Cavalon said sarcastically.

"Hey, I just want to apologize in advance about the mess, by the way. There are boxes everywhere-I move in the morning."

"When were you going to tell me this?"

'Um, now, actually, because I was going to tell you that I can't train tomorrow night because I will be unpacking."

"Your forewarning skills are impeccable," Cavalon rolled his eyes as he ran. "It's a shame you can't make it tomorrow though."

They slowed to a jog and then a walk as Nera's apartment came into view. "Why?" She flipped up the visor, glancing at him.

"I was going to let you go out and fight a little crime tomorrow. Something small, like a mugger or a gang of streetfighters."

"Really?"

"Yeah, but I guess it'll have to wait until the day after tomorrow."

"You're being serious?"

"Absolutely," He followed Nera inside, taking in the bare kitchen and vacated living room-slash-office. He stuck his hands in the pockets of his jacket and watched Nera take off her helmet.

"Look at that," She held up her new toy, a double-bladed, titanium axe that shimmered in the light. "Isn't it gorgeous? Oh, it was _so _worth five hundred dollars and the ten day wait for them to reset the CCTV cameras." The springy leather grip molded into her hand, and Nera grinned at her success.

"You're never gonna use that thing," Cavalon informed her. "You couldn't have spent that five hundred on clothes or something?"

"Nope. And I'll just use it for those special villains," Nera told her trainer.

"What special villains?"

"I don't know, but this bad boy is primed and ready for when they show up!"

"I guess you could always mount it on a wall," Nera casted the man a peevish look and ran her thumb along the blade.

"Or decapitate you with it," Cavalon shook his head and chuckled quietly. "I would name it after you as condolence; Cavalon the Destroyer,"

"Nah, Cavalon means 'Name of a King'. It's supposed to be Scottish or something."

"Sounds like a name one of the Knights of the Round Table would have."

"Who?"

"You know, King Arthur, Camelot, Morgan La Fey," Nera reeled off. "Anyway, today was good. Thank you for deciding that me breaking into a medieval weapon store to take an axe was important enough for you to come and watch in person instead of through my experiences."

"Any time," Cavalon waved a hand like it was no big deal. "I'll see you soon."

"Yeah," Nera undid her belt and stretched out her arms. "Bye!"

The next morning, Nera opened her door to Tony, wearing distressed jeans and a maroon sweatshirt.

"Nice," Nera commented, stepping aside to Tony could pass by. "I don't think I've ever seen you wear a sweatshirt before."

"That's because you haven't. I have a friend who's going to help me move your bed and the other heavy stuff. He wants your couch, by the way. Since, you know, you're getting a new one. He'll be here in about an hour to take it off your hands," He swept a finger across her countertop absentmindedly.

"Do you coordinate all of you clothes to match your armor?"

Tony gave her a steely stare. "Black Sabbath," He said.

"So you have one shirt that doesn't."

"I have plenty of shirts that don't match my armor. I just…picked this sweatshirt out because it looked comfortable. Are we going to stand here all day discussing my choices in clothing, or are we gonna move some boxes?"

Nera let an impish grin spread across her face. "Did you buy those jeans distressed, or is that wear and-"

"Okay, smartass, grab a box." They loaded all eight of her boxes into the van Tony had rented, the four large pictures, the mirror, three floor lamps, a fake plant, a leather chair she had seen in the window of a furniture store and thought "What they hell, I'll buy it," and the three area rugs Nera had bought during the winter when the tile floors became unbearable to walk across in the morning without a good pair of socks.

Tony's friend, a nice looking guy named Happy, drove up ten minutes after they finished with a rental van of his own.

Watching them move the couch out of her apartment was actually quite comical to watch. Nera stood by, arms folded, silently judging the two supposed grown men as they stared at each other like two cowboys at high noon.

"You ready?" Happy asked

"Are _you_ ready?" Tony raised his eyebrows.

"I asked you first,"

"And I asked you second. What's your point?"

"The point is, I need to know that you're ready to move this couch. We need to lift it at the exact same time, or one of us is gonna have more weight than the other."

"We'll do a test lift on the count of three, okay? Ready? One, two, three," The two men lifted it a little, then set it down, exhaling like the energy they had just exerted was draining them. "Okay, that was good. Let's do it again, for real this time,"

Happy nodded and then they just stared at each other, waiting for the other to make some sort of move to lift the couch.

"You guys _are _grown men, right?" Nera broke the silence.

They both stared at her. "Count for us, Nera," Tony requested.

"One, two, three," The two men lifted the couch and carried it out of her apartment, stopping when they hit the stairs. Nera stayed behind to lock the door of her old apartment, stashing the key in the doorjamb for the landlord to take later.

"Okay, this is gonna require a lot of teamwork," Happy examined the staircase. "You've got more muscle, so you go at the bottom, I'll be at the top."

"Oh, yeah right, you're bulkier than I am. Get down there,"

"No, this is gonna work they way I have it, trust me."

"Why don't you both go down at the bottom and I'll stay at the top," Nera offered. "That way, I can guide you down."

"No, sweetie, let the men handle this," Happy turned down her offer.

"Yeah, go wait in the van. We'll have this thing down in a jiffy."

"Okay," Nera rolled her eyes and breezed past the two, deciding to let them over-configure their options. _Men. _Such children.

_I see you're having fun, _Cavalon teased.

"You have no idea. Is your species always this stubborn?"

_We like proving to the opposite sex that we can do stuff like move a couch down a flight of stairs. It lets us tap into our inner man._

"Their 'inner men' are retarded, apparently."

_Most are._ And then he was gone, away from her head and off doing whatever he did in his free time.

An hour and a half later, after listening to various grunts and moans and Tony's cries of "Pivot! Pivot!", The men emerged, slick with sweat, carrying her old sofa over to Happy's van.

It took another hour to get her bed into her own moving van.

"Ready to go?" Nera asked as her boss crawled into the driver's seat.

"Yeah, just gimme a sec," He panted.

"Whenever you're ready," Nera reassured him. "Take your time. It's not like I'm, you know, hungry for lunch or anything."

"Okay, let's go," Tony steered the van onto the street and they drove in silence to Nera's new loft. The third day on the job, Nera had decided that she would find her own loft closer to Stark Tower instead of taking a floor from him.

Tony had taken the refusal in stride, opting to make it into a second floor to his penthouse. In turn, he helped her find a nice, spacey loft next to the Chrysler Building and even offered to help her move.

"Hey what are we going to do about my bed?" Nera asked curiously.

"Uh,"

"Aren't you supposed to be some world class genius or something?" She teased.

"Something like that,"

"You know I can do it, right? I can lift a bed up and take it up a few flights of stairs?"

"No, it's fine. I'll call Happy-"

"Nope, I can do this. I'm not entirely useless, Tony."

"No one ever said you were."

"Then let me help." They stared each other down, Tony with an unconvinced look, Nera with a challenging one. Finally, Nera gave up.

"Fine," She said coolly. "Then at least let me call a friend." Nera pulled out her phone and hopped out of the cab.

_Is the friend I'm thinking of rather dashing? _Cavalon quipped.

"Just shut up and pick up when I call you," Nera hissed. He did. "I need you to come and move a bed for me,"

"I'll be there in five minutes." Cavalon hung up, and Nera stared at her phone.

"Goodbye to you too,"

"So who was that?"

"I told you; a friend."

"How long is this friend gonna take?"

"He said five minutes. I think we can get a couple of boxes up before he gets here."

"Matress is blocking everything. We might as well wait."

Five minutes later, Cavalon tapped on Tony's window. Nera waved and grinned; he did the same.

Tony looked at Nera with a mocking expression and said, "Just friends, huh?"


End file.
